


Lying on Your CV Never Ends Well (Except for When it Does)

by mightypretty



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightypretty/pseuds/mightypretty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eoin is poorly and Tom helps him the only way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying on Your CV Never Ends Well (Except for When it Does)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ronsoftie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsoftie/gifts).



> So this was written for the lovely and awesome ronsoftie for the Fall Swap who requested some Tom/Eoin possibly with H/C, I do hope you like it love ♥ Also, yes, I know arnicare cream smells nothing like honey, but hey it's hard to make medical creams sexy ;) *g* This is my first attempt at this pairing so please don't hate me if I've ruined them! :/ Huge love and hugs to viennajones who cast her lovely beta eyes over this.

“So what has today taught us?” Tom asks, opening the door to the hotel room and ushering a belligerently pouty Eoin in after him.

“That you’re an insufferable arse?”

Tom’s laugh is hearty and loud as he kicks off his shoes, ruffling a hand through his friend’s hair before shoving him towards the bed. Eoin flips him the finger but settles on the edge of the mattress regardless, watching Tom head into the bathroom. 

“Shirt off,” he instructs, the words bouncing off the tiles. 

Eoin rolls his eyes but complies, listening to mirrored cupboards being opened and banged closed as he struggles to pull his top over his right shoulder. A list of colourful profanities slip from his lips when a jolt of pain shoots up the curve of his neck, seizing him in place. He ends up a half-on-half-off catastrophe, struggling futilely until he feels warm fingers gently touch his, a soothing hush of “Easy there,” as Tom delicately helps him shed the piece of cloth. Eoin simply grunts, eyes refusing to lift and thank his friend, muttering something about ‘paw hands’ under his breath – Tom snorts.

“And no, what we’ve learnt is to not tell lies on our CV huh? Especially about our ability to horse ride,” Tom smirks. “Jeez mate this has come out a beauty,” he murmurs, fingertips skimming softly over the darkening purple patch of flesh across Eoin’s shoulder blade.

The Irishman huffs, lips pushing into a frown, “I can ride a blindin’ horse, it was that tree, it came out of nowhere.”

“Sprouted up right there in front of you did it?” Tom asks with a grin, as he climbs onto the bed, shuffling forward on his knees until he brackets the other man. His jean-clad thighs widen as Eoin leans back into the ‘V’ they create, his arms coming to rest on either leg astride him.

“Piss off; you’re supposed to be sympathetic here.”

“And yet here I am rubbing arnica cream into your pasty Irish skin.”

“I’m not pasty,” Eoin mumbles, words lolling tiredly around his tongue, his limbs slacken as Tom’s hands rub soothing circles over his tender flesh.

“Hmmm no you’re not…how many goes on the sun-bed did it take to get you this ‘Golden Delicious’?” he chuckles, the cream warming beneath his palms as he spreads it liberally over the expanse of Eoin’s back. The hotel room is still, just the faint hum of the TV set from Ade’s room next door filtering through the quiet. Tom cautiously works his fingers, kneads them into the bruising blossoming an even richer shade of purple. He winces when he feels Eoin’s back pull taught, valiantly trying not to flinch at the pain.

“Always with the fucking apple jokes,” Eoin sighs dramatically, squeezing the inside of one of Tom’s thighs. “You know, you’re supposed to show worry and concern when the person you’re shagging gets injured, not take the piss.”

“So romantic.”

“Oh sorry, would you prefer fucking?”

“I think you would,” Tom quips back, shuffling a little as his legs begin to ache.

“Can’t say you’re wrong there….ahh” Eoin hisses, jerking as Tom’s thumb accidently dips into a sensitive spot.

“Think we should put the fucking off for tonight mate, don’t think you need any more excuses as to why you’re shit on a horse.”

A dry puff of laughter rumbles out of Eoin’s throat as the sickly sweet smell of honey blends with the heat of the cream. It fills his senses, causing him to slip further into the cradle of Tom’s body. “You think you’re so fucking funny,” he hums, long and drawn out. It purrs through his ribcage as he leans his back against the firm chest behind him, “but…but we can do other stuff.”

“God you’re an insatiably horny bastard,” Tom smirks, fingers continuing to massage the tense muscle across his shoulder. He stops when Eoin pushes back further, dark mane of hair coming to tickle his face, the firm round rump of Eoin’s ass pressing not so subtly against his crotch. With one hand Tom winds the dark strands round his palm, uses it to tilt the Irishman’s head back further, until Eoin’s face is buried in the crook of his neck. The other skates down the smooth expanse of chest, a faint dusting of hair tickling his finger tips. His touch is light, torturously so, as deft fingers trace the toned line of Eoin’s abdomen before they reach the top of his jeans and teasingly dance along the belt line.

“You know what your arms do to me,” Eoin manages to stutter out, breath hot and damp against the stubbled cut of Tom’s jaw.

“And my hands,” Tom whispers softly, voice dipping low as he laces the words against the shell of Eoin’s ear.

Eoin’s hips jut back shakily, “And your hands,” he agrees.

The fan of his lashes flutter shut and he gives himself over to the hot ball of pleasure sitting low in his groin. Tom’s barely snaked his hand inside the tight restraint of his jeans, hardly given his cock a few hard long strokes before Eoin is writhing maddeningly back against him, utter filth stumbling out his mouth. One hand is gripped against Tom’s thigh, the other clutching uselessly at the rolling tight muscle of his bicep as it’s wrapped across his chest - Fuck he really does love Tom’s arms.

The pain in his shoulder is searing. Tom’s weight pushing against him unknowingly as he curls his entire body around Eoin’s, almost devouring him completely in his embrace. Eoin couldn’t give two fucks – he bloody loves this. The feeling of being controlled, the knowledge that Tom could easily take him, pin him relentlessly and use him as he wanted without flexing a muscle. It gets him off like nothing else.

Tom’s rutting against his ass now, the telltale hardness pressing against the base of his spine with every upstroke of the hand on his cock.

“Fuck…fuck..” is hissed into the room, Eoin’s voice taking that low gravelly tone he only ever uses when he’s either uncontrollably angry or horny as hell. “Shit you drive me fucking mad.” The words are pressed against Tom’s cheek, tongue snaking to lick the crease of his lips.

The cream on Tom’s palm helps slicken his pace, allowing his fingers to fly over the solid length of Eoin’s cock that is steadily leaking pre-cum with every swipe of his thumb over the head. Short urgent pants tug out of his lungs as the stirrings of his release creep ever steadily upon him. Tom’s other hand lets go of his hair, brings it to tighten around Eoin’s neck, pressing ever so tersely against the base of his throat. A flush of heat skates across his skin as the restrictive pressure against his sternum makes his breaths fall quicker and – fuck, suddenly it’s all too much and too damn hot and Eoin is gasping for relief. His body jerks as he explodes in Tom’s hand, rolling his head to the side and bringing his teeth to bite down into the plump flesh of arm under his jaw. A stinged hiss slices through his ear as Tom humps once, then twice, before arching his body deliciously into the curve of Eoin’s back with a carnal moan.

They slump back into the covers; jeans a stained, sticky mess, clutching tenderly against their thighs and groins. Eoin ends up with half his limbs hanging gracelessly off the bed, hair sweat soaked where it’s plastered across his forehead until Tom brings his fingers up to brush it back gently.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks, prodding a finger gingerly against the darkening bruise.

“Surprisingly better.”

“Liar,” Tom scoffs, wheezing chuckles easing out as their heart rates slowly return to normal.

“Hmm…worth it though.” Eoin smiles, lavishing delicate little nips along the tanned expanse of his lover’s forearm. Tom watches him under heavy lids, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hums a content sigh as Eoin’s tongue tickles against his skin – ‘this man will be the death of me’ he thinks.

On the other side of the wall they hear the television rising in volume, piercingly loud as it shakes through the room. They turn to look at each other and laugh. The chatter of some comedy panel show filters through and after a few quiet moments pass between them, Eoin returns to his previous task of lavishing Tom’s wrist with licks and bites.

“Fuck it, on your stomach; let’s give Ade a real show,” Tom orders, shucking his shirt and hastily fiddling with the zip of his jeans. Eoin readily follows suit.

 

The next morning Ade shoots them daggers over breakfast…surprisingly neither can find it in them to care.

-fin-

[Back to LJ](http://mightypretty.livejournal.com/122010.html)


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